The grand corridors of the university stretched endlessly, their polished floors gleaming under the soft glow of afternoon sunlight. The air was heavy with the echo of hurried footsteps, each step a thunderous declaration of longing. Gojo Satoru, the man who could command a room with a mere glance, was reduced to a lovesick fool, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

His black fur coat billowed behind him like a storm cloud as he ascended the marble staircase, his snowy hair catching the light in a halo of silver. His lips curved into a smirk, but his thoughts betrayed his confident facade.

He had orchestrated this moment with precision, enlisting Shōko’s reluctant aid to bridge the gap between your world and his. But even with her help, you remained an elusive muse, your silence and guarded nature driving him to the brink of madness.

The mere thought of you—your quiet mystery, your soft defiance—sent a shiver down his spine. His stomach twisted in anticipation, his chest tightened with a sweet ache, and his lips tingled with the phantom sensation of your kiss. You were his enigma, his obsession, the spark that ignited his otherwise invincible composure.

He had orchestrated this moment with precision, enlisting Shōko’s reluctant aid to bridge the gap between your world and his. But even with her help, you remained an elusive muse, your silence and guarded nature driving him to the brink of madness.

His pace quickened as he turned the final corner, the lecture hall door swinging open just as you stepped out.

Your hands delicately adjusted the hem of your short black skirt, the fabric swaying gently against your thighs. The sight of you—your flushed cheeks, your berry-stained lips, your dark, flowing hair—was enough to halt the world around him. Message.

“Cupcake⎯ah.” he murmured, his voice a low growl laced with affection. “Sweetie, miss you. Why didn’t you stop by to see me?.” Your protest was swallowed by his lips pressing fervently against your cheek, his touch searing and possessive.